


The Eye of the Beholder

by centreoftheselights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bilingual, Black Hermione Granger, Body Image, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Love Bites, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Teasing, compliments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: Hermione is not used to being told she's beautiful. Fleur is planning to change that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over the French text to see a translation. Apologies for any mistakes!

Hermione Granger had never liked the way she looked.

Even as a child, she had always been the odd one out, teased for having hair too wild, teeth too large, skin too dark. She remembered coming home one day in tears, crying because the other children had made fun of her 'big' nose. Her mother had held her close, and told her:

“You are more than your looks. If they can't see that, then they aren't worth your tears.”

So she had found that books made better friends than other children, and every test she aced felt a little bit more like proving them all wrong.

When she first heard about Hogwarts, she thought it might be different – and in some ways, it was. She found Harry and Ron and became the kind of person she thought only existed in books, and it was more than her childhood self had ever dreamed.

But there were still those same barbs – Pansy's sly comments about her teeth, or Lavender and Parvati's well-meant suggestions of hair products. There was never any chance that Hermione might forget that she was not beautiful. She never hated herself, not truly – but her body meant nothing to her, it was just a way to move her mind around.

Until fourth year, and the Yule Ball. She had been surprised, and a little embarrassed, by how much she enjoyed being the girl everyone looked at for a change. But try as she might, she couldn't forget how hard she had had to work to change herself into that girl.

“Ach, you were not so different,” Fleur had said one day, when Hermione brought it up. “Ze dress was lovely, of course, and your 'air was changed. But to me, you 'ad always looked beautiful.”

Fleur did not like to be called beautiful, and Hermione understood why. She was all too happy to shower her fiancée with other compliments – _brilliant_ and _passionate_ and _inspiring_ – and at first, Fleur had done the same in return. But then Fleur had noticed the way Hermione grimaced at her hair in the mirror, and heard her sighs when she stepped on the bathroom scales, and soon she had developed a new habit.

“Magnifique”.

The word murmured against her ear, followed shortly by the soft press of kisses against her neck, brought Hermione smiling into wakefulness.

“Bon matin, ma chérie,” she replied. Opening her eyes, she turned to see Fleur propped up on one elbow, smiling at her. “What's made you so happy?”

“Admiring your beauty,” Fleur replied.

Hermione grimaced, pulling the sheet over her to hide her face.

“Ah!” Fleur gasped dramatically. “Ze sun 'as gone from my life!”

Hermione pulled down the sheet in order to roll her eyes.

“At last! Beauty returns!”

“Fleur...” Hermione said, warningly.

“I know, you shall say it is too early for teasing,” Fleur said, apologetically. “So I must be plain, and say only that you are beautiful.”

Hermione sighed, but she rolled over and let Fleur kiss her good morning.

“You know,” she said afterwards, “my hair is a mess right now.”

“A little wild, per'aps,” Fleur said. “But soft and tender and uncomposed – just as you are, before your morning coffee!”

She kissed Hermione again, before she could object, and this time there was a little more heat in it. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as Fleur sucked on her bottom lip.

“Fleur,” she said again, in a very different tone.

“We 'ave nowhere we must be zis morning, no?” Fleur's hand on Hermione's hip suggested that she already knew the answer to her question. “Can you think of any way we might pass ze time?”

“You said no more teasing,” Hermione replied, pulling her close for another kiss. Fleur surged forwards, pressing their bodies together with an energy that Hermione had no hope of matching at such an early hour. Instead, Hermione rested her hands on the curve of Fleur's waist, while Fleur rolled on top of her, straddling Hermione's hips.

“Now I 'ave you where I vant you.”

Hermione's lips twitched into a smile. “I haven't moved.”

“But I can look at you,” Fleur explained, her hand cupping Hermione's face, “and zat is all I wish.”

“ _All_?”

Fleur laughed, and Hermione's stomach flipped.

“No,” she corrected herself. “Not quite _all_.”

She pressed her hands under the hem of Hermione's shirt, her fingernails scraping gently along Hermione's waist with just enough pressure to make her gasp for breath. Then she pulled the shirt up and over Hermione's head, Hermione lifting her shoulders off the mattress just long enough to let herself be undressed.

With a smirk, Fleur dropped the nightshirt onto the floor beside the bed.

“Impressionnant,” she declared.

“You've seen my breasts before,” Hermione pointed out.

“And for zat, I am truly grateful,” Fleur told her. “I could travel ze world for years and never find a more beautiful sight than you.”

“Mmm, if you say so.” Hermione's response was a little breathless as Fleur pressed a series of kisses along the curve of her collarbone. “You might think differently after our honeymoon.”

“You shall see,” Fleur declared. “We shall make love in ze most beautiful cities in ze world, and I vill 'ave eyes only for your wonders.”

Hermione's chance of response was lost as Fleur bit down against the curve of her neck, making her moan in pleasure. Fleur sucked against her skin, hard enough to leave a dark reddish bruise, while Hermione's hand tightened on her waist, gripping deep enough that her fingernails left crescent-moon curves on Fleur's back.

“Très lyrique,” Fleur commented, pressing a firm kiss that made the spreading bruise ache beautifully.

“Fleur, please,” Hermione said, her voice rough with wanting.

“Did you have a request, ma bien-aimée?” Fleur asked, although her eyes were already firmly fixed on Hermione's breasts.

“Fleur, mon amour…”

“I 'ad a dream last night of our wedding day,” Fleur said quietly against Hermione's breastbone. “You looked so beautiful in your dress. Eet was a work of art – like a precious carved gemstone.”

Hermione smiled, the tension that had built up inside her softening for a few moments. When she had proposed, she had given Fleur an engagment ring that had belonged to her grandmother – a plain silver band set with a single sapphire, but when Fleur had learned of its origins, she had cried with happiness. In return, she had given Hermione a necklace that had been worn by her mother on her wedding day, and her grandmother and great-grandmother before. It was a single piece of rose quartz, carved into the shape of a perfect rose.

“Some days I cannot wait until we are married – until you 'ave stood before the world in all your splendour and told zem it is me you choose to love – and then zey shall realise that I am the luckiest woman in ze world.”

Hermione smiled, bringing her hand to cup Fleur's chin.

“Apart from me,” she said.

“Of course,” Fleur waved her off. “But when we are togezzer like zis – in zese times, you are like ze true, living rosebud. You blossom before me, and I am breathless. Even your imperfections only add to your brilliance.” She pressed a hand to Hermione's side – an old scar, a shining streak left where she had dodged a spell so narrowly its heat had burnt her. “You are my hero, my beauty, my muse – je t'aime entièrement, 'Ermione.”

“Je t'aime aussi,” Hermione replied, pulling Fleur up for a kiss. “I will always love you.”

She kissed her lover again, and again, wrapping her hands into Fleur's long, silvery hair until, with one last kiss, Fleur pulled away.

“I vould not deny a lady 'er request,” she said, slowly moving down Hermione's body to her breasts again. “Now, where was I?”

She pressed her mouth gently against the broad, black ring of Hermione's areola, sucking Hermione's nipple into her mouth with a broad stroke of her tongue. Hermione felt sparks skittering along her skin, and her eyes rolled back with pleasure. As Fleur moved to the other nipple, pinching and rolling the first between her fingers, Hermione could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Je t'aime,” she gasped between deep, ragged breaths. “Fleur, I love you, ma chérie, Fleur -”

Fleur scraped her fingernails down Hermione's side again, making her shiver with pleasure.

“So sensitive,” Fleur said, repeating the motion a little harder. Hermione's back arched up, the lines on her stomach uncreasing for a moment as she pressed up against Fleur.

Fleur chuckled softly, and pressed a kiss against Hermione's bellybutton.

“Ahh,” she said, the flow of air making Hermione's stomach ripple again. “You make zis is too easy, my love.”

Hermione made a rude gesture at her, and Fleur laughed again, kissing a slow but deliberate line down Hermione's stomach towards the waistband of her trousers. Hermione's breathing kept time with her kisses, her pulse fluttering in anticipation of Fleur's direction.

But then Fleur paused.

“I adore zis part of you,” she declared, her chin resting just above the curve of Hermione's pubic mound, her hands tracing softly over the pale, streaking lines of the stretch marks that lined the dark skin of Hermione's hips and stomach. “You have such a softness that you keep hidden from the world.”

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She lifted her head to look down at Fleur.

“'Ave I embarrassed you?” Fleur asked. She pressed another kiss to the round curve of Hermione's stomach – firmer, more deliberate, her tongue sweeping in a broad circle just above Hermione's waistband. The sensuousness of the action made Hermione gasp, and her head fell back against the pillow.

“Not from you,” she answered, breathlessly. “I don't hide myself from you.”

“Bien sûr,” Fleur acknowledged. “And so I must remind you what it is zat I see.”

And with that – finally – Fleur's fingers curled around Hermione's waistband, pulling her trousers off, leaving her fully unclothed. Fleur, still wearing her silk nightgown, smiled as she settled herself between Hermione's knees.

“There you are, mes amours,” she said. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Fleur,” Hermione protested, rolling her eyes.

“Ignore 'er,” Fleur said, pressing a kiss to each of Hermione's legs. “You do not understand the passion I 'ave for your thighs, ma chérie.”

“Should I be jealous?” Hermione asked. “You do – ah! - spend a lot o-of time together…”

As she spoke, Fleur kissed her way up Hermione's inner thighs, nipping against the soft skin there with just enough force to make Hermione moan.

“Don't be jealous, my love,” Fleur said. “I 'ave teased you enough, no?”

She moved so that her face was poised between Hermione's legs – finally, almost, where Hermione wanted her. Fleur's breath ghosted over her sensitive lips with every breath, until they felt white-hot with want.

“Ma fleur délicieuse,” Fleur murmured, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss against Hermione's folds. Hermione had no words to respond.

With tantalising care, Fleur licked a slow, broad stroke up Hermione's lips. Hermione heard her sigh softly, savouring the first taste of her, then Fleur's tongue was on her again, firmly pushing open her folds and pressing at her slit.

Searching for something to hold onto, Hermione's hands tangled in the sheets, her hips bucking forward as Fleur sucked first one of Hermione's lips into her mouth, then the other. She took her time, using broad, flat strokes to fill Hermione with sensation, then darting her tongue inside in short, shallow jabs that left Hermione moaning.

The first time Fleur moved up to curl her tongue around Hermione's clit, Hermione let out a long, low moan. A few more flicks of Fleur's tongue against her sensitive nub had her realising that her orgasm was much closer than she had thought.

“Please,” she gasped. “Fleur, mon amour, love, please…”

Recognising the breathless edge in Hermione's voice, Fleur obliged. She lavished attention onto Hermione's clit, massaging it with her tongue and sucking on it in brief, dizzying bursts. Hermione's thighs tightened around Fleur's head as her orgasm rolled through her, wave after wave of pleasure as her body rippled under Fleur's expert touch, until she gasped:

“Ah! Enough.”

Fleur took one last long lick of Hermione's pussy, slick with moisture, then moved back. Hermione took stock of herself – her fingers grasping at the sheets, her chest heaving with each breath she took, her limbs growing heavy with the weight of her release. She let her legs fall apart, allowing Fleur to free herself. Fleur sat on her knees with a bright smile, and Hermione smiled back with unabashed joy.

“A kiss, s'il te plaît?”

Fleur stretched up the bed, draping herself across the crumpled sheets, and pressed her lips to Hermione's. Hermione drew her closer with a hand in her hair, deepening the kiss as she drew her lover close, her other hand moving to Fleur's hip.

But to her surprise, Fleur pulled back, taking Hermione's hand in her own instead.

Hermione frowned. “Don't you want me to -”

“Of course I _vant,_ ” Fleur cut her off, her voice deep with desire. “But we 'ave all day, after all. And I know you will be useless before your coffee.”

Hermione had forgotten all about breakfast. As Fleur rolled effortlessly out of bed, Hermione stretched out, trying to shake off her morning torpor, and began to look around for her lost nightclothes -

“No, no!” Fleur told her. “I shall go. You must stay here.”

“Am I not allowed to get out of bed today?

“Exactly, ma rose beauté!” Fleur said with a smile. “You must stay exactly as you are while I cook for you. And while I am gone…”

Fleur's eyes moved slowly up and down Hermione's body, a look of undisguised desire on her face that filled Hermione with a strange feeling of pride.

“While I am gone,” Fleur repeated, her voice a little hoarser. “I shall think of what will be waiting for me when I return.”

Hermione's pulse grew a little faster. She smiled. 

“Hurry back.”


End file.
